


Tossing and Turning, but Not in a Fun Way

by breatheforeverypart



Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Feels, Coping with trauma, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Healthy Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, TBI, Traumatic Brain Injury, Watson the service dog, grounding tools, surprisingly good coping mechanisms, tasking service dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:01:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25810039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breatheforeverypart/pseuds/breatheforeverypart
Summary: Bucky is triggered and has a Bad Night.  Watson and Steve work with him to maintain safety and return to baseline normalcy.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Watson the Service Dog and his Partner-in-health, Bucky Barnes [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758628
Comments: 11
Kudos: 32





	Tossing and Turning, but Not in a Fun Way

***

An arm was thrown across Bucky’s torso. “Huh.” He coughed awake. Bucky’s chest was half covered by a sheet. The limb that rose and fell with each of his breaths was not his. He glanced down at the head nestled against his stump. Blonde hair stuck up at odd angles. His snores whistled out of his nose at an adorable pitch. Steve. His partner. Not a stranger, not a sadistic handler, and not the man who left him with several lifetimes worth of nightmares and seizures. 

His partner reached for his neck and Bucky froze. Panic flooded his brain, and he struggled to separate reality from memory. In the dark, his body could not tell the difference. Every touch burned like Pierce. Everything was a threat. 

He blinked, eyes wide in the dark space. He pulled his legs toward the edge of the bed and something warm and heavy shifted at his feet. Watson sighed. The three of them constantly jockeyed for position at night. 

His brain supplied the name of his canine partner, Watson. He’s safe. I’m safe. We’re okay. He tells himself all of these lies, repeating them until the words blended together into nonsensical sounds. 

Steve farted in his sleep and rolled onto his back. Now that he’d been released, Bucky slowly moved himself to the edge of the mattress. Guilt constricts his ribs around his heart like a vice. As he curled onto his side, Watson adjusted and molded himself into the c-shaped space along the back of his legs. 

He toned down the brightness of the screen and opened Instagram. He scrolled through all of his social media accounts until he can tolerate letting his eyes close. After the phone slips from his grasp, Bucky focuses on Watson’s weight on his legs. Watson wouldn’t let him hurt Steve. Steve isn’t Pierce. He is okay. He tried to mitigate the rising panic with mindless scrolling and rubbing Watson’s fur. 

***

He wakes completely drenched in sweat. He is tangled in the sheets. The bed feels too soft. He’s drowning in a sea of obscene thread counts. Thoughts puncture his brain in rapid succession. He chokes on shame and can’t seem to swallow the build-up of saliva in his mouth. 

He does not deserve the mattress. His hand is numb, Pierce’s voice prickles his ear. The modern furnishings of Stark Tower fade in the presence of his sensory memories. Is he handcuffed again? He can feel the man’s breath, hot and sour against his mouth. 

He tears at his lip, teeth grinding until the taste of blood rushes into his mouth. He holds his body rigid, numbness alternating with spikes of pain. He knows what is coming. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. 

Steve shifts closer to him without approaching consciousness. Bucky registers Steve’s erection when he throws a leg around his hips. His last thread to reality snaps as Steve tries to pull him into an embrace. Pierce grinds against him, tugs at his hair and growls into the sweaty skin at his throat. The mattress morphs into the cold cement floor of his cell. 

Waves of nausea narrow his vision. He half falls off the bed and struggles to stand. His arm is gone, and he can’t balance. Bucky lunges forward and is nudged towards the bathroom by Watson. He breaks out in a cold sweat and Bucky stumbles to the bathroom. He drops to his knees, a step short of the toilet and loses the contents of his stomach. 

***

His hand flops against a dimpled spot on the mattress. “Hmm.” He groans. With eyes still closed, he feels for his partner. Eventually his hands contacted a fury body. Ah. Watson. Their canine partner. He peers in the darkness and realizes that Bucky isn’t on the bed. Watson is curled up against Bucky’s pillow in a perfect imitation of Goldilocks. His eyes are open, tail wagging at Steve in the dark room. 

“Where’s Dad?” He yawns. Steve rubbed his nose and stretched before patting the rumpled bed. “Let’s go bud.” 

Steve knocked on the door. Watson turned a tight heel at his side, more curious and awake. He sniffed at the wood before dropping into a down-stay. 

“You okay in there?” Steve pats his pajama pants for his phone. 

After a couple beats of silence, an answer came through the barrier. “No.”

“Want some company?” He did not particularly want to deal with vomit, but Steve would do anything to help his partner. Even if he had to hold his nose while flushing the toilet. “Are you having auras?” Seizures could trigger Bucky’s stomach problems, but that was usually post-seizure activity. 

Gagging answers him. Spitting sounds splatter against the bowl of the toilet. “Ugh.” 

Steve sighed. “Your turn, bud.” The couple had a plan that kept Steve from intervening unless he was actively harming himself or experiencing a cluster of seizures that required doses of emergency meds. 

Quietly, Steve negotiated with JARVIS to monitor Bucky and Watson. He adjusted the lights to the dimmest setting, slid down the wall to the plush carpet and extracted his phone. 

He could hear Watson’s nails clacking on the tile floor. Bucky’s voice floats through the door, the dog’s collar jingles as he scratches their head and talks to his canine partner in health. 

He unlocked his phone and began typing a message to one of two friends whom he thought would be awake at this hour. It also didn’t hurt that she lived a floor below them. 

***

Steve watched Bucky from his position on the area rug. “Are you gonna join me?” He arched his back and groaned. He exhaled, trying to stretch his aching body. His pre-serum body had been too fragile to exercise. His post-serum body had limitations that Steve had yet to fully explore. 

Bucky declined to answer, electing to walk around the coffee table. Watson followed his partner, completely focused on their well-being. Bucky didn’t slow his pace. He walked the same loop. 

“Do you want anything?” He leaned back into a child’s pose before transitioning to a downward-dog position. Steve had given up on sleep for the night. He had Natasha on a video call. She was wrestling her own ghosts a floor below his suite. Steve offered her his company and a cup of tea, but she had declined. For now, she had her smartphone propped against a vase. She was curled on her couch with her Kindle, voraciously reading her recent purchases. 

Natasha lifted her chin in acknowledgement. “Has he said anything?” Bucky’s pacing reminded them of a time when Bucky did not sleep for almost a week. Yarn along with Laura’s supportive nature had solved that problem. 

“Nope. They’re making the same path around the table.” Steve brought himself back to tree pose, his body oddly energized by the impromptu yoga session. He would have to tell Banner that yoga was actually helping him. 

Steve flopped onto the couch and Bucky abruptly stopped. Watson crashed into the back of Bucky’s legs, his wet nose pressing into his skin. The door that closed was not metal. He was not in a cell. The grime of Pierce’s touch still choked his throat. 

Rogers gulped water from a glass on the side table. “Hey.” 

Bucky’s body surprised him. Steve pried the lid off the shoe box that lay between them. The grounding kit was a work in progress. Wilson had gifted the couple a laundry basket full of stress balls, fidgets, journals, art supplies, essential oils, and weighted lap pads. 

Watson sniffed at the contents of the bin. “Should we share?” Steve tipped the shoe box towards the dog. 

His tail wagged as he licked a squishy llama shaped stress ball. “Not yours, pal.” Bucky croaked. “Good try at being sneaky, ya jerk.”

“What should we get him?” Steve tried to keep his voice even, but he suspected relief oozed from his words. 

Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion. “Water?” He thought that Steve would like it if he drank water. He needed to please his handlers. They liked when he was compliant. The line between memories of his time as Soldat and the current reality was blurred by terror. 

Steve clamped a hand on his partner’s shoulder. He flinched, and averted his gaze. “Yeah.” He passed Bucky the half-full glass, unaware of the war waging within Bucky’s TBI and PTSD ravaged brain. 

***

Bucky’s sock-less feet burned from the hundreds of rotations around the coffee table.   
His thighs felt like jelly after three hundred or so squats. Steve liked to exercise, he did not. Bucky had his body physically tormented enough to fill volumes of texts. Already, there were history books that documented his experimentation and Stevie’s with the stupid serum. 

Light was beginning to creep in through the floor to ceiling windows. Watson and Steve are curled into themselves with their backs touching. Steve’s arms are tucked under his chin. Watson runs in his sleep, his nose and paws twitching excitedly. 

Bucky felt simultaneously awake and exhausted. On a recent mission with Peter and Wanda, he had ingested more than the recommended dose of caffeine. Those tiny bottles of energy drinks were deceptively pungent. He shuddered at the memory of his heart thumping while they were on the stakeout. 

He went through the motions of brewing coffee in the kitchen. Steve’s brain sputtered to life. “Buck, can I get you a mug?” 

“Mm.” Bucky murmured while continuing to pace in a tight line between the table and couch. 

He knows what he could do. The box of grounding tools mocks him. One of the mostly empty notebooks sat open on the small table. 

Watson tracks his partner’s movements from the nest. A couple pillows and throw pillows were mashed together in such a way that suggested Watson had dug himself a nice little bed a while ago. Bucky had lost a lot of time. 

Sleep wasn’t happening. Why not torture himself by processing the nightmares? 

Bucky crammed himself into the corner of the sofa, his legs pulled against his chest. Watson readjusted his position to curl against partner in health. “Okay, bud.”

He nibbled on a pen. Bits and pieces of the night swirled in his head. Steve opened and closed drawers and cabinets in the kitchen. Coffee brewed and helped Bucky orient himself to the correct time of day. 

***

“What’s the red stuff?” Steve pointed the tines of his fork at the sauce Bucky was squirting over his eggs. 

Bucky grinned. “Siracha. Wilson added it to Banner’s vegan ‘meat’ for taco Tuesday night. It’s the ketchup of today.” 

“Huh. Family dinner gets more interesting every week.” Steve tapped his plate. He had been meeting with military professionals in Washington D.C. and missed the salsa explosion, among other revelations that night. “Give me a squirt.” 

A bright idea popped into Watson’s head, courtesy of his nose scenting the breakfast spread. He lapped up on his partner’s thighs. “Not for you, dude.” 

“Oh. That’s spicy.” Steve’s cheeks puckered, and his body shook at the intensity of the taste. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not punk.” The late morning had melted into a comfortable brunch date. Bucky had written until his flesh and bone hand cramped with fatigue. He had asked Nat to come over later for tea. She always helped him make sense of the fractured memories that haunted him. Natasha kept her own notebooks under lock and key, but Bucky knew that they existed somewhere in Stark Tower. 

“Yes, it is.” Steve’s eyes watered. “I think I need ice. Ah.” 

“Your punk taste buds just haven’t caught up to this century.” Bucky retrieved almond milk from the fridge. “You need dairy to neutralize the spice.” 

“When did you get so smart?” Steve sighed after gulping cold milk, directly from the carton. 

Bucky slipped his arm about Steve’s neck. He kissed the top of his partner’s head. “That’s very un-Captain America like behavior.” 

“Avenger by day, stubborn punk by nights and weekends.” Steve pulled Bucky onto his lap. 

“Same old Stevie.” Bucky settled his head against his partner’s shoulder. “Thank you. I’m sorry about last night.” 

“Nope.” Steve brushed through Bucky’s hair with his fingers. “No, you have nothing to apologize for. I’ve got your back, Buck. Always.” 

Watson leapt excitedly at the couple. His paw caught Steve directly in the throat. “Oof.” He wheezed. 

“We’ve got you too.” Bucky scratched Watson’s floppy ear, causing him to wag his butt excitedly. He had a difficult time articulating his thoughts in the best of circumstances. Bucky was exhausted from teasing memory after memory from his bruised brain and translating all of the horrors into words on a page. “Even if sometimes we go about it in dumb ways.” Watson alternated licking both men and woofing. He tilted his head at each super soldier, trying to understand their conversation. 

“Thanks.” Steve smiled and coughed. “Should we go for a W-A-L-K?” 

Bucky reached for Watson’s gear and braided leash they used for work days. “Wanna get dressed?” 

Watson barked and spun into a tight heel at Steve’s side. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

As they made the way to the elevator, Bucky reached for Steve’s hand. Watson leaned against his legs. Warmth flooded his chest, Bucky had a home. He had a family. His phone vibrated with a text, Natasha wanted to confirm their journal date for later that day. Steve bounced ideas off of him for dinner. One bad night did not mean that his relationships and life were all falling apart. 

“Buck? Are you with me?” 

Steve was standing outside of the elevator. The atrium of Stark Tower was bathed in sunlight. Watson blinked at him, panting slightly. 

“Yeah.” He stepped out into the lobby and took Steve’s hand. He could choose how to spend each moment of the day. His life mattered. Watson’s paws padded on the tile and brushed against his legs. Bucky threaded his fingers through Steve’s and grasped his hand tightly. “Let’s go.”


End file.
